


low on self-esteem so you run on gasoline

by Shutca



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Gen, StreetRacing, asking the REAL questions, does the pig count as a character tho, gansey-on-fire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-24 06:21:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4908676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shutca/pseuds/Shutca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>super short self-indulgent drabble</p><p>Gansey and Ronan go streetracing ft. Gansey meets the Pig for the first time flashback.</p>
            </blockquote>





	low on self-esteem so you run on gasoline

**Author's Note:**

> hello everyone  
> this is my first work in a long time so i hope it's not totally horrible !!  
> ALSO my first time writing the raven cycle (that was long overdue... the series is so gOOD.... can't wait for the raven king to fuck me up)
> 
> writing tumblr:  
> friendly-neighborhood-meme  
> (go check that shit out)

Gansey vividly remembered the first time the Camaro had sprung to life beneath his feet.

His father - Richard Campbell Gansey II - has taken him to many car dealers with the goal of buying a car, right after Gansey passed his driver’s test. Though the two have scoured countless grounds covered with vehicles, none of the newly manufactured cars in the neat, slick rows - with their shining paint and minted  _freshness_ \- seemed appealing to Gansey.

In fact, they seemed soulless - empty vessels, and nothing more.  
  
 

A novel without words.  
  
 

A guitar without its strings.

 

They had not seen anything before Gansey, and most likely wouldn’t see anything after.  
  
 

After a while (days and weeks and months), Gansey II had completely given up on the task of finding Gansey III a car that would appeal to his tastes. It was apparent to him that he was just not interested.

Truth was, Gansey  _was_ interested. Just not in anything so... pitiable.

When you grow up in a family as rich as the Gansey family, cars are a renewable resource. A pristine, glistening car is bought, and a year or two or three later, it’s thrown away for a newer, better model. Maybe it had started malfunctioning and it’s too much of a bother to fix it, or maybe it just doesn’t “fit” anymore. Maybe it’s too “arcane” and too “old” and some fresher, better car model has surfaced, and that previous one just doesn’t seem wantable anymore.

So the cars are discarded, with no ingrained memory of whom it had belonged to. They still glisten, shine, gleam - as if it had just been driven out of that car dealer across the road, untouched by a driver’s hands.

 

Soulless.

 

Taking the matter into his own hands, Gansey drifted from used car dealership to used car dealership from time to time - though these cars were a step up from the brand-new, unfeeling, straight-from-the-factory Sedans and SUVs, none of them had sparked that  _something_ .

They were too green or too red, too run-down or too new, from almost barely functioning to dreary, sad 1990 Buick Regal Coupé’s.

 

However, nothing caught Gansey’s eye quite like the run-down, flashy, orange 1973 Camaro.

Though it looked well kept on the outside - no chipped paint, or any other imperfections were visible on its overly intense orange finish - it was obvious the car had seen many years of usage. One look at the interior through the rolled down windows revealed the ingrained impression of someone spending many hours in its tattered vinyl seat, of someone’s hands gripping the steering wheel for countless more. Someone - someone who is, or had been, very much  _alive_ and  _real_ \- had lived so much of their life behind the wheel of this car, and it was obvious.

 

After a brief inspection of the vehicle (not that it mattered much, as his knowledge of cars at the time was as limited as anyone’s), Gansey had immediately bought it.

 

And the next thing he knew, Gansey was turning the keys in the ignition.

 

What happened next he would never forget: the engine coming to ferocious life, a rumble that reverberated through his whole body - from his feet all the way to the cavity of his chest - the intense smell of gasoline and nothing else overwhelming him from all sides, the cold vinyl seat pressing into his back; it made him feel alive, alive, alive - and  _something more._

The amplified sound was a monster, a deafening roar in his ears, but his heart was beating too hard to be afraid.

 

The Camaro, Gansey thought, is all he could never be: voracious and sure and  _free_ ; terrifying, thrilling, electrifying. 

 

Even now, he was but a pale imitation of those things; the darkness of the dead, still night threatening to engulf him whole, his hands gripping the stick shift and steering wheel; the engine roared louder, louder, louder still. There was only the road ahead of him.

His heart was pounding in his chest, almost as loud as the rumble of the engine.

 

From the car right next to the Pig, Ronan Lynch grinned an absolutely fiendish smile.

And he revved the car.

 

Louder, louder, louder.

 

In response, Gansey upshifted.

 

The combined roars of the two cars were ear-piercing.

 

Alive, alive _, alive_ .

 

The light turned green.

 

And then, there was this: tires squealing, the smell of gasoline, being pushed back into the cool vinyl seat, and Gansey, just Gansey - Gansey, the voracious; Gansey, the sure; Gansey, the _free_ .

 

That’s all there ever was.

That’s all there is.  
  
 

That’s all there ever will be.


End file.
